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Enchantress.
Temptress.
Cloak your untruth in something glorious,
something shiny that I’ll really believe.
I do, don’t I?
I believe almost everything you tell me,
and then some.
hmmmm….
Maybe there is something to Plato’s edict.
Maybe you are a lying tramp.
An enchantress?
No.
More like a black widow.
Spinning a web of lies
so you can suck out souls
to nourish your existence
fed on the lifeblood captured
by the fruit of your tempting deception.

white lady
sparrow
rosebud cheeks
stilettos from the ghetto
once covered your feet
my brother from another
mother sold them to you there
down by the ocean
near the fisherman’s lair

checking out the blanket displaying his ware
you bought his Prada knock offs at 30 bucks a pair

white lady
sparrow
rosebud cheeks
look at you now
a company chief
a tiny rigid powerhouse
you perpetrate the earnings
of the power infrastructure
you set the public’s yearnings

power suit displays you
cunning in its style
sexy but no nonsense
with legs that run for miles

white lady
sparrow
rosebud cheeks
look at you now
all fancy on your feet
you got your Prada it’s the real thing
Gucci, Jimmy Choo—
those Manolo Blahnik pumps rock all over you

from here to there you made it girl
a real Cinderella
with a gigolo dressed up to pet
your dazzling faux fella

did you get him on a blanket,
checking out his ware
down by the ocean near
fisherman’s lair?

Brenda Warren 2012

Process Notes:
The prompt at NaPoWriMo asked that we take a line from a poem and create a new piece from it. The first three lines, which are repeated throughout this piece are lifted from an old poem I wrote. I’ve been wanting to try my hand at a rap style piece, and I think this one is heading in that direction. Thank you for your visits, and reading my work.

5o years 2 months 6 days ago,
2618 weeks and 2 days,
the 28th day of the fourth week of 1962.

Where were you?

At 3:24 a.m.
my momma was popping me out into the world
her second child, a girl,

while the radio at the nurses’ station
blared Joey Dee and the Starliters.
1-2-3 kick!
1-2-3 jump!
The nurses ignored my momma’s cries.
They twisted and kicked,
they twisted and jumped,
they twisted the Peppermint Twist
until my momma damn near delivered me herself.

Brenda Warren 2012

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NaPoWriMo Day 3 where the prompt asked that we write a poem inspired by the song that was #1 on the day that you were born. For me the song was “The Peppermint Twist,” by Joey Dee and The Starliters.” …..and no, my mother did not almost deliver me herself, or if she did, I’ve yet to hear that story.

string me along for a song
I’m your twelve trick pony
whisper like a horse shines
and taste that smell like there’s no tomorrow
you know what I mean
and if you say you don’t you’re lying
so yeah
either way
shine on
or wish your paw
wasn’t some lame ass dog
digging holes to make points
it’s time to pack my bags
and shape something new

Brenda Warren 2012

***

dark red string

“paw’s up for whispering smells!”

every paw lifts, as weasels glance round the room
remembering that dark red string
that wound its way through last year’s rank and file
it emanated this smell
this smell that carried a peculiar taste
and whispered through packs of weasels
lined up with nose points almost touching
(shaping colons to punctuate connections)
weasels became that string winding through them
evoking wishes for flesh
warm and quivering
something they could hold down with their little weasel paws
while their sharp weasel teeth shredded flesh in a frenzied feast

they hunted later that night

tonight as every weasel paw rises
warnings of humans and reminders of last year’s weasels
culled for “pets”
leads to chitter among the ranks
until a dark red string whispers through,
quieting weasel stories

lined up and touching
weasel noses follow its progress
and the hunt begins

this year, sixteen weasels
are lost to the hunt

Brenda Warren 2012

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Process Notes for “peace out”:
I played with the words late Monday night after receiving them as a contribution from Richard Walker to The Sunday Whirl. This piece came quickly. I read it aloud and edited slightly. The meaning is unclear but each line seemed to feed the next line, and it feels like it means something. The title was initially the last line, but I moved it. The ending seems more optimistic to me the way it is now.

I wish I could read it aloud to you, to me the voice drives this piece. It’s fun to read aloud, and the meaning of paw changes. I like that about it.

“dark red string” notes: The one wordle word I didn’t use in any form in the body of the poem, “trick,” could be a synonym for the dark red string.